


By Her Side 3: Talk of Changes

by Vickiemoseley



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Hurt Fox Mulder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 18:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vickiemoseley/pseuds/Vickiemoseley
Summary: Bill and Mulder talk about Mulder's relationship with





	By Her Side 3: Talk of Changes

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third in the series and it would help a lot if you

Title: By Her Side 3: Talk of Changes  
Author: Vickie Moseley  
Summary: Bill and Mulder talk about Mulder's relationship with  
Dana. And a six pack of beer gets involved.  
Spoilers: I've been haunted by 'Never Again' and 'Emily' so I sort  
of explain them, maybe. No movie or sixth season stuff (since it  
hasn't started yet ;)  
Rating: R (they're drinking, their inhibitions are lost in the fog)  
Category: V, H, UST  
Disclaimer: I still don't own any of these characters. I know, it's  
unbelieveable, but it's true. So, until I can buy 10-13 Productions  
(I'd keep CC on, honest I would), I won't infringe on their  
copyright.  
Archives: Yes  
Note: This is the third in the series and it would help a lot if you  
read the other two. It pretty much finishes Bill's side of the story.  
I'm toying with seeing how Tara sees things. If that interests you,  
let me know. 

By Her Side 3: Talk of Changes  
by Vickie Moseley  
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

It all came up so sudden. After all the running back and forth to the  
hospital, and then when Mulder woke up, all that stopped. Our  
lives, well, Tara, mine and Matty's, all went back to normal. Dana  
stayed at the hospital, then gradually, started working out of the  
San Diego Bureau office. She's been coming to our place to sleep,  
and since she's up and gone at daybreak, we really haven't seen her  
that much. Until last night.

She came home early last night, all a flush. Dr. Nelson had decided  
that Mulder can be released. I think it's sort of nuts, I mean, the  
guy was in a coma three days ago. Managed care, my ass.  
Anyway, Dana came in and was starting to pack, trying to call the  
airlines and get a flight. She hoped to get something direct to DC,  
and they'd have to go first class, since Mulder was still pretty bad  
off and would need the extra seat room.

I watched her for a minute and then felt my wife's danty size seven  
and a half shoe come down firmly on my instep.

"Tell her they can stay here a day or two." Tara doesn't 'hiss' very  
often, but it was as close to a 'hiss' as I'd ever heard.

OK, confession time. Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I actually  
believed that Mulder and my sister would go straight to the airport  
from the hospital and I wouldn't have to face him again.

I don't hate him any more. I want that in the record. But that  
doesn't mean I _like_ him. And it sure doesn't mean I want to  
have to wait on him hand and foot. Or worse yet, have my _wife_  
waiting on him hand a foot. I let him have my sister, I'll be damned  
if he's getting his hands on Tara, or my house!

Pretty stupid feelings, I know, but they're mine and I'm sticking  
with them.

Tara had other plans.

"Tara, where will we put him?" Good question, and even a  
practical one since the bedrooms in this house are all upstairs, and  
that's probably not on his 'to do' list yet.

"The bathroom is up there, too. We get him up the steps once and  
we're set. He can eat his meals up there, and we can move the TV  
from our bedroom into the guest room."

Guest room. Or, my study, as I more commonly refer to it.

"Then where is Dana gonna sleep?"

"In Matty's room. Or I could set the cot up in the guest room for  
her."

Matty's room. Definitely Matty's room. I'm only allowing this  
new found approval go so far.

"She probably wants to go home, Tara. They've been here almost  
two weeks as it is."

And at that exact moment, God looked down at our happy little  
home . . . and spit in my eye.

"DAMN IT!" The slam of the receiver almost sent the phone to the  
floor. Tara ran in to see what the matter was, I sat with Matty on  
the sofa and tried not to look like we were cowering.

"Of all the times for a damned airlines to go on STRIKE!"

Oh yeah. The airlines strike. We'd been joking about it in the  
commissary. Can you say 'Gotcha'?

So here I am, sitting in our minivan at the hospital entrance, waiting  
patiently while Dana and Tara bring Mulder down in a wheelchair.  
Matty is gurgling, chewing one of those teething cracker things that  
cover everything with goo that hardens immediately into concrete.  
The air is on full blast because it's about 9,000 degrees outside.  
And I've had to cancel out on a meeting with BuPers about an  
assignment on a ship.

My life sucks and it's getting worse by the minute.

Finally, they are here. Dana is pushing the wheelchair and she's  
shaking her head. Even though she's trying to look 'tough', she's  
glowing. She's just happy to be bringing him home in one piece, I  
can tell. She points to the minivan and Mulder nods, then sighs. I  
know how you feel, pal.

He's not looking that much different than when we last saw each  
other. He's still pale, still way too thin. He has to have help  
getting up out of the wheelchair and I can tell it's hurting him to  
move that little bit. Getting into the car will be torture. I can't  
stand it anymore, and put on the parking brake, then get out of the  
car.

"Let me give you a hand." I move in front of him, get my arms  
around him and hear him moan into my shirt. "Sorry," I remember  
too late not to touch the left side of his body more than necessary.  
After some unique dance steps, I ease him into the middle seat in  
the car. Dana shoots me a wink, Tara is looking at me like I might  
get _very_ lucky tonight and I run around to get this show on the  
road.

Getting Mulder out of the car is a little more tricky than getting him  
in there. For one thing, Matty has managed to pretty much encase  
his left arm with teething mortar, but Mulder doesn't seem to mind.  
He looks relieved just to be away from people with sharp objects. I  
take point, again, and together, we ease him out on to the curb. I  
can tell he wants to get to the front door by himself, but after a  
step, he's more pale than he was a minute ago, and Dana makes a  
grab for him.

Surprisingly enough, that's all the support he needs to get the rest  
of the way in the door. I get Matty out, only getting a smudge of  
the cookie goop on my sleeve and Tara takes him while I get the  
bags out of the back.

Mulder didn't have that much of his own luggage at the hospital.  
Dana brought him his shaving kit and a change of clothes. The suit  
he'd been wearing at the time of the shooting was either evidence  
or garbage, so it no longer belonged to him. The rest of the stuff is  
medicine and all that crap that they send you home with, even if you  
just end up staying over night.

As I enter the front door, I see my sister, desparately clinging to a  
very tall person who is about to go over my staircase railing, head  
first.

"Let me up there, Danie," I yell before the railing breaks and they  
both die from the fall. I grab Mulder, this time careful of his left  
side, and all but carry him the rest of the way up.

"You should have waited," I tell her when she makes it to the top  
after us.

"I thought I could make it," Mulder tells me with an embarrassed  
shrug. "I think I need to lie down, now." He's almost a dead  
weight in my arms.

"Sure thing. We made up the guest room for you." Tara in  
control, with Matty on her hip, pushes past us and opens the guest  
room door.

I get him to the bed, Tara has the sheets pulled back and I help him  
lie back. He's rigid until he settles, then he sort of collapses against  
the pillows. Tara fusses with the covers a little, then straightens.

"I'll have lunch ready in about half an hour. Mulder, would you  
like something to drink, anything?"

He looks like he needs to go back to the hospital, if you ask me.  
But he shakes his head. "I'm fine, Tara. Thank you. I think I'll  
just rest until lunch."

I take that as our cue to leave. I put my arm around Tara and  
Matty and guide them out into the hallway. I say nothing as I pull  
the door shut behind us.

Tara is a whiz at cooking. She loves being in the kitchen, and I  
love just watching her work. Today, since we have 'company',  
she's knocked herself out. She started minestrone before I left for  
work, but that's for tonight's dinner. For lunch, she's made  
chicken salad sandwiches and I make sure she doesn't notice when  
I sneak a chunk for myself and a little for Matty in his high chair.

Matty is a good baby. Especially when in a 'covert operation', like  
stealing a popscicle when we know 'Mom' isn't looking. Tara has  
this thing about food and one year olds. It comes from reading too  
many baby magazines. Mom, my Mom, used to let us eat anything.  
I've watched Charlie finish off a bag of barbeque potato chips at the  
ripe old age of 2. So Matty and I have become quite the operatives  
in the kitchen.

Today, however, in all the excitement, Matty slipped up. While I  
was reaching for another forkful of the bowl of chicken, he figured  
he'd help me along by grabbing the napkin it was sitting on and  
pulling it toward us.

Chicken salad a la lap. My clean blue uniform lap.

I'm not happy running up the stairs to get a clean suit. I have  
meetings this afternoon, and I don't need this shit. As I pass the  
'guest room' door, I can't help but over hear them talking.

"I hate imposing, Scully. You know how Bill feels about me. I  
don't know why we couldn't just go to the motel."

Ungrateful little shit.

"I know, Mulder, I know. But Bill has been trying so hard this last  
week. He was with me all night the first night. And he was there  
everynight you were in the coma."

That's my Danie, sticking up for me.

"Besides, it serves him right to have to put up with us. He _has_  
been a shit to you in the past, and it's time to rub his nose in it a  
little."

_Two_ ungrateful little shits.

I'm about to knock on the door and let them both have a piece of  
my mind when I hear Tara calling us down for lunch. I beat it into  
our bedroom and change before Dana comes out into the hall.

Maybe they're right. Maybe I have been shitty to Mulder. I've  
gone over my reasons. Mom was always telling me I was too hard  
on the guy. It was pretty unreasonable to assume that he was  
personally to blame for _all_ the tragedy that has befallen our family  
in the last five years. But I have to point out that if Dana had never  
joined the FBI in the first place, none of this would have happened.  
And if she'd joined, but hadn't stayed partnered with Mulder,  
maybe a lot of the horrible things could have been avoided, too.

Why am I such a creep for wanting to protect my family?

When I get back down to the kitchen, our little munch mouth is  
chomping down on his chicken salad. Dana is right about one  
thing, this kid can eat! Dana looks at the iced tea in front of her  
like she's wishing it was a vodka martini, and she's yapping it up  
with Tara over Mulder's stubbornness.

"He's like a little kid, sometimes, Tara. I mean, he needs to eat and  
he absolutely needs to rest. But the minute my back is turned, he'll  
be sneaking down those stairs, trying to figure out a way to get  
back home so he can go to work three weeks early. There have  
been times I've just wanted to . . ."

"Shoot him?" my gentle wife teases.

Dana gets a funny look on her face. "Nah, been there, done that. I  
just want him to do what he's told for change. I just don't want to  
have to worry about him having a relapse or injuring himself until  
he's well enough to handle it."

I grab a sandwich and hit the door. I'm late for the office, and the  
last thing I want to hear is how my baby sister intends to keep  
Mulder in bed for the next three weeks.

The afternoon drags by, mostly because I'm writing reports, kissing  
ass, and trying to get that ship assignment out of BuPers. By 5:30,  
I'm ready to call it quits.

I pull into the driveway, and I'm met at the door by my wife. A  
nice little homecoming, except she's carrying the baby in one arm  
and the diaper bag in the other.

"Dana needs to get out a while. She's absolutely obsessing and I  
think Mulder is ready to duct tape her and throw her in the closet.  
Mind if you guys have the house to yourselves while we take  
ShortStuff to Mickey D's?" She doesn't even wait for an answer,  
just reaches up and kisses my cheek. "I owe you big time, Billy.  
And if you're real good, you can collect tonight." That is thrown  
over her shoulder in a decidedly 'Mae West-Lana Turner-Lauren  
Bacall' sort of smoky voice.

Geez, she would use sex to get her way. It always works.

"What are _we_ having for dinner?" I really don't whine, but Tara  
is always accusing me of it. I think she's probably going to do it  
again.

"The minestrone is in the crock pot, there's Italian bread sticks in  
the oven. And I made a salad, it's in the frig. Beers in the garage,  
Mulder does _not_ get one, he's still on painkillers. Dana made  
him some iced tea, it's next to the salad. We'll be home in a couple  
of hours. I love you." Another kiss, this time blown at me through  
the air, and she's piling Matty in the car.

The screen door slams and Dana is beside me. "Tara just needs a  
little time out. I volunteered to take her and Matty to McDonald's  
and the mall for a little bit. Now, Mulder needs to take his  
antibiotic one hour before he eats, so make sure he does before you  
feed him anything. And absolutely _no_ alcohol for him. For that  
matter, don't even drink it in front of him, he'll only try to talk you  
out of a beer if he sees you with one. And he'll need to take his  
painkiller an hour after he eats. I've written it all out, it's on the  
frig. And I left my cell phone number. Mulder knows it, but in  
case he can't speak or is in too much pain . . ." She's getting this  
look and turning to stare at the door a little too long.

I grab her arm. "Hey, I think it's really great that you girls are  
getting out for a while. Tara needs to get a dress for a Halloween  
party we're invited to, why don't you see if you can find one."

That drags her attention back for a moment, but she's still  
wavering.

"Danie, he'll be fine. I will make sure he's fine. Believe me, if  
anything goes wrong, I will call you first and 911 second. It will be  
all right. Go. Have a good time and relax for Cripes sakes."

"Is that an order, Commander?" She has a smart-aleck grin  
plastered on her face and she always was a mouthy kid.

"Yes, that's an order. Now, get going. You know how much  
trouble you can get into standing between Matty and a meal." I  
give her a swat on the backside for good measure.

And they are gone. I'm still standing on my front porch, wondering  
how in the hell I just ended up alone with my sister's partner for the  
evening. Not that daunting a challenge, I've done it a couple of  
times just recently.

Trouble is, this time the son of a bitch is conscious.

I open the door and go upstairs, changing into shorts and a tee  
shirt. I think about going down to get a beer, but decide to check  
on my charge first. I walk down the hall and knock on the partially  
closed door.

"Is she gone?"

Interesting greeting.

I push the rest of the way into the room. "Yeah, they're gone. I  
think I got rid of them for a couple of hours. Told 'em to find Tara  
a dress."

"Remind me to pay you, generously." It's a relieved smile that he  
gives me.

"So, my sister's driving you crazy?" I didn't mean it to sound so  
much like an accusation, but I guess it came out that way.

"Bill, please understand. She's only trying to look out for me. I  
know that. It's just that she gets a little . . . forceful, when she's in  
'doctor mode' and I just get to the point where I can't handle it  
anymore. Usually, by this time, I'm home and I can call your mom.  
This time, I had to ask Tara. Scully means well, I know she does,  
but . . ."

He looks sort of pathetic, sitting on a bunch of pillows. He's not  
wearing a hospital gown anymore, just jeans and a loose shirt. He  
doesn't look at death's door any longer, but he doesn't look up to  
playing a quick game of 21, either. I'm sure if it was me in that  
bed, I'd be climbing the walls, too.

"She always was too bossy for her own good," I tell him. "And if  
you think you've got it bad, you should have seen her when she  
was a kid. If you tried to hide something from Mom or Dad -"

"She'd nark you out, right? I knew it from the first time I met her.  
But she's not that bad anymore. Sometimes, she even . . ." He  
stops and just stares at the blankets on the bed.

I take that as an opportunity to break for the kitchen. I'm at the  
door when I remember. "Um, did you take your antibiotic?"

He sighs, not a happy camper. "Yes, I took my antibiotic. Exactly  
47 minutes ago, according to my watch. That means I can offically  
eat in 13 minutes."

Sheez, what a pain. "Well, it's gonna take me at least that long to  
find the salad dressing," I tell him and the poor sap grins at me.

I take my time in the kitchen, just in case Mulder will burst into  
flame if he eats two minutes before the hour is up. I take the time  
to down a beer, find both bottles of salad dressing - white and red,  
and fill two glasses with iced tea. Then I dig in the cabinet above  
the stove for the fancy wooden bed tray that Tara's sister got us for  
a wedding present and we've yet to use. It's been getting a work  
out these days, thanks to our houseguest. There is barely enough  
room for the two soup bowls, the bread from the oven, the two  
salad bowls and the iced tea. I stick the salad dressings and table  
ware in my pants pockets and head back up the stairs.

He's got the tv on, watching sports. Cubs and Braves. And I  
thought it would be the end of the world before the Cubs would  
make it to post season play. Mulder looks up and then checks his  
watch.

"I can start chewing, but I have to wait 45 seconds before I can  
swallow," he informs me, reaching for the tray.

"Not much to chew, it's soup. So swallow real slow," I warn him  
with a smile. God, I'd really hate to be laid up like he is. It has to  
be a monumental pain in the ass.

We eat in silence, both watching the game. He's wincing and I  
would get concerned, but then I notice it's just the runs being  
racked up by Atlanta.

"God, I hate seeing Ted Turner win," he tells me, chugging down  
half the iced tea. He holds the glass out and gives it a hard look.  
"And I'd kill for a beer."

"Dana would kill me if I gave you one. And Tara would help."

He sighs again, but nods his head in agreement.

The soup goes down pretty well, I clear the dishes and put them on  
the tray to take down later. The game has become such a blow out  
that it's gotten painful to watch.

And I just gotta ask.

"So, Mulder, you humpin' my sister?"

Poor guy, I'm sure it's not good for him to cough like that. How  
am I supposed to know that questions like that make him choke,  
and on iced tea for God's sakes! I know better than to pound on  
his back, he's got a shit load of stitches there and plenty more  
inside and on his chest. So I just sort of stand there and hope he  
recovers because Dana will have my balls on a platter if I killed him  
asking him a simple question.

"Jesus H. Christ, Bill!" he finally chokes out. "You trying to kill  
me here?"

"It's a valid question, Mulder." At least, I sure think it is.

"Well, the answer to your valid question is NO!" He leans back on  
his little pile of pillows and I think he may be needing the pain pill  
sooner than one hour after dinner.

"Why not? Are you gay?"

That gets me a look that could cook my liver.

"No, Bill, I'm not gay," Mulder says through clenched teeth. Same  
look Dana gave me that first night. Like I just crawled out from  
under a rock.

"Is she gay?"

"Christ, Bill, if you have questions about your sister's fucking  
sexuality, you fucking need to direct them to _her_!"

"So neither of you are gay?"

He's staring holes in me. Too bad you don't have 'x-ray- eyes, Mr.  
FBI, or I would be dead. Cooked liver, cooked goose.

"No, Bill. To the best of my knowledge, and where it concerns  
your sister, that is limited, neither of us are gay."

"Then how the hell did you have a kid?"

He closes his eyes and sighs again. I would almost feel sorry for  
the bastard, but I've been dying to know this for months.

"Emily wasn't . . . she wasn't 'ours'. She was Scully's child." He  
chews on his lip for a moment and then swallows again. "And if  
you want any more information, you need to ask your sister."

"So who is the bastard? Or have you already taken care of him."  
This last I say with no malice. I've seen them together now, I have  
no doubt that if some fucker raped my sister and she had a baby  
because of religion or something, Mulder would put a bullet right  
between the guy's eyes. The only real problem with that scenario is  
that she didn't remember any of it, if it happened. And when she  
was gone, she was only gone for a month. I might not know a lot  
of obstestrics, but Matty taught me, babies take forever to come  
out. It's not something you forget and somebody would have  
noticed.

"They didn't . . . Bill, it's more complicated than that." But from  
the look in his eyes, he'd do anything he could to 'take care of' the  
bastard.

"More complicated than rape?" Yeah, Mulder, tell me how it can  
get more complicated than rape. Then it dawns on me. Maybe she  
loved the guy once. Oh shit. That would explain why Mulder  
hasn't killed him. But why can't she remember? Or is that a lie to  
protect the son of a bitch?

"She didn't love the bastard, did she? This isn't some weird ass  
'repression memory' shit that is going to come back in ten years  
and she'll end up in some nut house?"

"It's not something I want to talk about, Bill. And please, respect  
your sister and don't go asking her. It's . . . it's still a very sore  
subject. But believe me, I'm working on it. And when I get the  
opportunity, regardless of what it costs me personally, I will 'take  
care' of it."

I believe him. I look at his eyes and boy, I'd sure hate to be the  
asshole who did that to Dana. His days are numbered. That's a  
relief. I turn my attention back to the game. Seven to nothing,  
Braves. Shit.

"So, back to my original question. Why aren't you humpin' my  
sister?"

"Bill, go get me a beer."

end of part one

By Her Side 3: Talk of changes, 2/2  
by Vickie Moseley  
vmoseley@fgi.net

"Bill, go get me a beer," he repeats.

I must look a little nervous because Mulder's sighing sort of  
impatiently at me. "I haven't taken my after dinner medicine. And  
if I'm gonna have to sit through this kind of interrogation, I need  
_something_ to insulate me from the discomfort."

How can you argue with that kind of logic?

"Better bring back a six pack," he tosses out to me as I head for the  
door. "And grab a couple for yourself, too."

OK, I gotta say it. I'm starting to like the guy.

I decide to limit our consumption to one six pack _between_ the  
two of us, and in a jiffy, I'm back with six Miller Genuine Drafts. I  
hand him one out of the ring, he pops the top and chugs down a  
good mouthful.

"To the patron saint of brewers," he says, looking at me and  
holding his can aloft.

"Salute!" I respond and join him in another good belt. Ahhh, that's  
nice.

"So, back to the question, why aren't you two doin' it like rabbits?  
Isn't my baby sister good enough for you?"

He blows a breath out through his mouth. "It isn't like that. She's  
too good for me, if you want to know the truth."

"She loves you. I can see that everytime she even mentions your  
name. You should have seen her the other night, man. She was  
losing it big time when you were in surgery." I see a guilty look  
cross his face and if it were anyone else, I'd probably regret  
bringing up the subject.

"I know that. I feel the same about her. We're . . . we're beyond  
close."

"But no sex?"

"No sex." He chugs again to drive home his point.

"So what do you do? Cat around on her?"

"NO!" He swigs at the beer again, and I realize he's beaten me to  
the bottom. He reaches out a hand and I give him the rest of the  
ring. Popping another one, he stares glumly at the rugby game he  
found to replace the sad performance of Chicago. "No, I do _not_  
cat around on her. I don't do anything. Period. Besides, Bill, truth  
be told, our line of work doesn't give us much time for that sort of  
thing."

I ponder that for a moment. I've been at sea, I know what being  
faithful is like. But six years? And I knew that when the cruise  
ended, Tara and I would be under the covers for a couple of days  
without food or water. It just doesn't seem healthy at all to keep  
that much 'tension' going for that long. Then, a name pops into my  
head.

"So who is Ed Jerse?"

I can tell I'm hitting all the right buttons, now. He turns purple and  
I'm sure I'm gonna be calling 911 in about three seconds.

"Where in the hell did you hear that name?!" I have a feeling that if  
he could, he'd reach out and grab for my neck to wring the answer  
out of me.

"Dana mentioned it. The other night. When you were . . . when  
they had you in surgery. She said she threatened you by telling you  
that if you died on her, she'd find this Jerse asshole and, quote, let  
him fuck my eyes out this time, end quote and that this time her  
tattoo would read 'fuck you, Fox Mulder'. She scared the shit out  
of me telling me fucking shit like that."

"She _was_ losing it," he mutters and chews on his lower lip. "I  
thought all that was a dream."

"So, who is this bastard?"

"Nobody," he says a little too quickly.

"I'm not buying that. She's my sister, I deserve to know."

He's getting red in the face now and I don't really give a shit. It's  
the truth. She is my sister, and I _do_ deserve to know what she's  
been getting herself into. Maybe this 'beyond love' thing is making  
her do stupid stuff, like run off and jump into bed with every two  
bit asshole who looks twice at her. I remember when Missy went  
through a period like that right after high school. I don't want  
Dana going through that. It's too fucking dangerous.

"She's a grown woman, Bill."

Shit, can this guy read minds?

"Ed Jerse . . . Jerse was a nobody. A mistake. We don't talk about  
it. And for Christ's sake, don't say a word to Maggie! It's was  
before . . . before we knew about the cancer. It was a shitty time,  
and neither one of us want to remember it. I'm surprised she  
mentioned it to you. She hasn't brought the subject up since it  
happened. She must have been really at the end of her rope to let it  
slip like that."

"It's not like she meant for me to hear, really. She was just talking,  
she was scared to death. I don't think she even knew she was  
saying it out loud."

Mulder stops talking, just looks at the screen. I never could  
understand the rules to this stupid ass game.

"It was over a desk."

I sputter my beer across the room.

"No, not like that," he says kinda disgusted. "Not _on_ a desk,  
'about' a desk."

I'm NOT saying a word.

"She'd never had a desk. In my office. I mean, she had a desk, a  
nice desk, in an office upstairs. And a filing cabinet. She used to  
keep my birthday present and her medical journals up there. But  
most of the time, we're down in my office, our office, really. And I  
just sort of figured if she didn't like something, she'd do something  
about it. I mean, for Christ's sakes, she orders the pencils, she  
orders the printer paper, she orders the file folder tabs. She could  
damn well have ordered a desk if she wanted one. You'd think that  
would be obvious, right?"

I grab for another beer. This is certainly turning out to be more  
than I'd bargained for.

"And I really didn't want to go on that fucking vacation. I just  
wanted to work. How the hell was I to know that she had cancer?  
_She_ didn't even know she had it yet. She goes out, stays the  
night at the guy's apartment, gets a fucking snake on her ass, and  
then tells me it's not about _me_! It's not about the desk at all.  
What the hell is a guy supposed to think?"

I am _real_ confused now, but I'm still not saying a word.

"A week later, I'm called to the hospital and she tells me she has  
cancer. It felt like somebody had shot me in the gut. I couldn't  
breath, I couldn't think. I didn't want to believe it. She told me  
before she called her mom. And she was trying to be so brave, I  
saw that. She's the strongest person I know, but she was working  
so hard to put up this stone front. She was gonna work. She  
wasn't going to give up. She was gonna beat it." He stops again,  
and grabs for another beer, his third to my second. "Those fucking  
bastards. I will see them dead. Someday, we're gonna dance on  
their graves."

"That's what that chip was all about? How did you get it? Did  
they give it to you?" I've been wondering about _that_ for almost  
a year.

"I stole it out of the Pentagon," he says, like it's something he does  
every day. "But if you want to know what I really think, I think  
they let me steal it. I think it was part of their plan. They didn't  
want her to die, they just wanted me to know that they can take her  
at any time. Which is why we aren't fucking like bunnies, Bill," he  
sort of slurs with a smile. "It would be expected. And it would just  
give them one more thing to use against us."

"Wait a minute, there, Mulder. The Pentagon? _The_ Pentagon?  
Are you telling me . . ."

"I'm not telling you anything, Billy Boy," he grins. "Just forget you  
heard that. It's the MGD talkin', that's all."

Now, I'm really confused. "I don't see how caring about each  
other, giving each other some comfort, could possibly be used  
against you."

Mulder shakes his head with a smart assed smile. "You don't know  
what we're up against. And you know what?"

I look over at him.

"I'm gonna _keep_ it that way." He belches a good one and downs  
the third beer.

"If she's in danger, if the military or the government is involved, I  
_want_ to know, goddammit!"

He's shaking his head again. "Leave it alone, Billy. Leave it to the  
professionals." He finds that comment extremely funny but not for  
long. "Christ, that hurts worse than choking," he winces and grabs  
for his chest.

"You all right?"

"Nothing another beer won't fix." He reaches for a fourth and I  
hold on to the can for a second. "Scully, I might not look it, but I  
can whip your ass," he glares at me.

"HAH! You and what army?" I belt right back.

"I'll get your sister to hold you while I beat the shit out of you,  
swabbie."

I'd respond to that, but I figure he's probably right. I let go of the  
beer. "Are you sure you should be drinking that many, Mulder? I  
mean, you just got out of the hospital today."

"So?"

"So, I don't want you getting hurt. I don't want to mess up your  
medicine."

"Like you give a shit what happens to me," he huffs and drains half  
the can in one gulp.

"Dana does. So I do."

He stares at me. But by now, I figure he ain't seeing that good.  
I'm probably the guy in the middle.

"You mean that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Cos, if my sister were around and she got mixed up with a pathetic  
loser like me, I'd want the guy dead. I'd figure I could help her  
over the grief, but she'd be better off in the long run."

Well, that feels like a kick in the stomach to me. Nothing like  
having your own thoughts recited back to you to really humilate the  
hell out of a guy.

"Yeah, well, I'm just a more 'sensitive' kind of guy," I tell him with  
a smirk.

"Yeah. I could tell that about you when you were telling me not to  
'bring work' into Scully's hospital room. Something about letting  
her die with dignity. That was _real_ sensitive of you."

Ouch. OK, maybe I deserved that.

"I didn't know you then. I thought you were there to . . . Hell,  
Mulder, I was scared shitless that I was losing my only living sister.  
You can't hold me responsible for that and you know it!"

"I'd never hurt her, Bill. You gotta believe me, I'd never hurt her."  
His voice has gotten so damned tight it makes my throat hurt  
listening to him. I think the son of a bitch is gonna start crying.  
But I believe him. I fucking believe him.

"I know you wouldn't, Mulder. Not if you could help it. But damn  
it, why did you step in front of that goddam bullet the other day?  
Couldn't you just shove her out of range? You both could have  
walked away!"

"I didn't think of myself. I just was not going to let her get hurt. It  
just happened." He winces and rubs his left side. I can see the  
bandages under the tee shirt he's wearing. "Pain and I are old  
buddies. I don't mind it. As long as she's all right."

"You know, I was right. You are a sorry son of a bitch!"

He stares at me, surprised by my outburst, but damn it, he's making  
me mad!

"Look, you fucking idiot, my sister loves you. That is a gift,  
goddam it. Do you honestly think she'd waste her life tagging after  
you if she didn't love you with her whole heart? I may not like it, I  
might not want to watch it, but it's her life and she deserves better  
than a black dress and a grave to visit! If I hear that you've put  
yourself in the line like this again, I'll fucking walk all the way to  
DC and yank you out of that grave and fucking kick your dead ass  
all the way across the country and back!"

He's silent. His face doesn't show any emotion at all. Then, he tips  
back the beer, drains it and belches once more.

"Shit, Bill. I didn't know you cared that much."

"Bastard," I say with a grin.

"Asshole," he replies.

We're even. I reach for another, but Mulder drank the last one.  
He's looking pretty bleary eyed.

"Give sex a chance, Mulder. Women need to be held, too."

"Voice of experience talking?"

"You've seen Tara. You think she's smilin' because of all the  
laundry she has to do?"

"You are a fucking prick, Bill Scully. You are telling me to fuck  
your sister."

"No. I'm telling you to _love_ my sister. And you already do that.  
I'm just telling you, if you keep her satisfied, she won't go looking  
for any fucking 'Ed Jerses' anymore."

"I might take that under advisement," he says, and sort of slumps  
against the pillows. "I'm gonna really hate myself in the morning,"  
he says, and he's out like a light.

I sit back and watch the last of the rugby game, then the soccer  
game after that. Mulder is quietly sawing the rainforests next to  
me.

I hear Tara when she hits the door. I realize with a start that I've  
missed her. This house just seems empty when I can't hear her  
voice. Even when she's mad.

Like now.

"Where in the hell did all these beer cans come from" Tara is  
tapping her foot, but with Matty trying to shove his teething  
cracker down her blouse, it really loses the impact.

Dana, on the other hand, is in rare form. "You better come up with  
something very fast, William Dennis Scully."

She can't be too mad. She forgot to use my Confirmation name.

"William Dennis _Andrew_ Scully, did you drink all six of those  
beers?" Dana demands as she stands up with the evidence in her  
fists.

"Uhhhhh." Rock and a hard place. Yup, that's right where I am.  
Between a rock and a hard place.

"Bill Scully, you answer your sister, or you will be spending the  
night _alone_."

Shit, there goes my evening. Sorry, Mulder, I'm narking you out.

"Mulder had four of them."

"FOUR of them! My god, he could have lapsed into a coma with  
that much alcohol in his system!" Dana has pried open an eyelid  
and is shining a little flashlight into his eye. That would really hurt,  
if the poor bastard could feel anything.

"Go 'WAY," he moans and swats at the flashlight. Well, at least  
he's not in a coma.

"He's drunk!" Dana declares, like it's some Supreme Court  
decision and spins on her heel toward me. "I told you specifically  
_no alcohol_!"

"Look, Danie, he didn't take his after dinner pain killer. So he had  
a couple of beers! Give the guy a fucking break!"

Matty takes the opportunity to shout "Bucking Break!" and grin  
like a cheshire cat.

"Good work, Bill! I can't wait till he tells that to your mother next  
time she calls!"

Mulder puts his finger up to his lips. "SHHHHHHHHhhhhh," he  
hisses, finally running out of breath. "Can't you see when a guy  
needs to rest?"

Dana is ready to blow a gasket. She glares at me, and I'm suddenly  
aware that although Mulder and I are getting along fine now, I'm  
back on my sister's very short shit list.

"Tara, I'm going to have to sleep in here tonight. With all that  
alcohol, he might have an adverse reaction. I need to be close."

She's looking at me like I might have some objection to that.

"I'll go get you another pillow." I catch their shocked faces as I  
head to the hall closet.

It probably won't happen tonight. Mulder is in _no_ condition to  
perform up to standards. But that doesn't mean that down the line  
. . .

Danie was right. He probably isn't that bad a guy. For a loser.

the end.

Vickie

"Politics is a character flaw."

George Brown, politician and former mayor.


End file.
